


Déjà Vu

by Keiko Kirin (sakana17)



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Reality, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-11-28
Updated: 2001-11-28
Packaged: 2017-10-03 18:21:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakana17/pseuds/Keiko%20Kirin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where do Sam, Daniel, and Jack belong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Déjà Vu

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Kathy and Terri for comments and help.

Sam awoke with a start. She blinked and yawned and sat up.

"How's he doing?" Mark asked quietly.

"He was awake earlier," she said. She checked her watch. "Is the nurse here?"

Mark stood at the foot of the bed and stared at their father. He nodded. "Yes." He ran one hand over the blanket. "You're ready?"

Sam stood up. "Yes, just give me a minute." She took Jacob's hand and held it for a moment, let go, and left the bedroom.

Susan was there, talking with the nurse. The nurse was an African-American man, a little shorter than Sam, with a kind smile.

"I'm Ted," he said, shaking her hand. "Don't you worry about a thing. You go out and have a good time."

He went into the bedroom and Sam heard him say, "Hey there, Jacob, it's Ted. Don't give me any trouble this time. I know you're the boss." His voice was full of friendly familiarity, and Sam knew that if Jacob were awake to hear it, he'd smirk and nod and reply, "Damn right."

The bedroom door closed. Susan leaned against the wall and looked at Sam. "Katie's getting ready. Everything has to be just so." She shook her head a little.

Above Susan's shoulder was a framed photograph of the four of them -- Mark, Katie, Jason, and Susan -- at Disneyland, with Mickey Mouse. Katie and Jason looked so small there, in t-shirts and jeans and wide grins shy a couple of teeth.

"Do you think you'll be able to come home for Christmas?" Susan asked, staring at the wall next to Sam.

"I don't know. You know what it's like."

Susan nodded. She didn't seem put out by this answer. She didn't seem to care one way or the other. Sam felt for a moment that twinge of being an outsider here, intruding in her sister-in-law's home. It was ridiculous, really. She and Susan had always gotten along, even if they'd never been close. They shared no interests, and Susan had an obvious but benign resentment of Katie's current hero-worship of her aunt. But they'd never quarreled, never fought.

The outsider feeling had increased after Jacob got sick. The forced reconciliation with Mark, and then Mark and Susan taking him in, getting him a nurse, doing so much. Mark the good son, after all those years, while Sam, who'd always been the good daughter, was too busy elsewhere. No one held it against her, not even Jacob, she was sure.

Susan rubbed the back of her neck. It had been troubling her again lately. She glanced at Sam. "Have you heard from Jonas?"

Sam crossed her arms and shook her head. "No." Not since the divorce, not since he got himself reassigned. Mutual friends had checked on him for a while, but she hadn't heard anything for months. She added, "Last I heard, he was engaged."

Katie joined them in the hallway. Katie slipped her hand into Sam's. They found Mark and Jason in the living room, Mark tearing Jason away from his PlayStation.

Dinner out had been Katie's idea, and she liked the restaurants by the water, where she could watch the ships. After dinner, they walked along the harbor. The moon was a yellow crescent over the ocean. Mark, Susan, and Jason walked ahead. Katie hung back and held Sam's hand again.

"Are you going to the moon?" Katie asked. "Or Mars?"

Sam smiled. "I may not go to outer space at all, Katie."

Katie stopped and looked up at her, frowning. "But you're an astronaut."

Sam nodded. "I'm in an astronautical program now, but that doesn't mean I'll go into outer space. There's a lot of research to do right here on Earth."

Katie screwed up her nose. "It doesn't sound like fun."

"It's a lot of fun," Sam said. "It's hard work, but it's fun, too."

But hard work that was fun didn't sound as glamorous to an eight-year-old as going to other planets, so Katie skipped along the sidewalk, telling her aunt all the things to take pictures of when she got to Mars.

It was a short drive to the airport. It was late, and the kids were tired, so they dropped Sam off at Departures, said quick good-byes with hard hugs.

"Take good care of him," Sam said to Mark, holding on. "If anything happens ... changes ... call me."

"I will. Don't worry." Mark patted her back. He drew back and tried to smile reassuringly. "He's proud of you, you know."

Sam swallowed hard and nodded. "See you soon." A last wave at Susan and the kids. She shouldered her bag and walked into the terminal.

She tried to read, at the gate, on the airplane. She couldn't focus. Part of it was excitement: new assignment, new place, new people. Most of it was Dad. Jacob was dying. She'd never seen him so weak. When he was awake, he was in so much pain, and the drugs made him confused. When she'd told him about the assignment, he'd just looked at her blankly, then smiled a weak, fake smile and said, "That's nice, Samantha." He hadn't understood. His dream for her had come true, and he was too weak, too tired, too close to death to understand.

She thought she was over crying. How many years since his first diagnosis? How many years since the doctors had given him eight months to live? But Jacob fought it, held on, to the bitter end. Sam hadn't cried in a long time. Now, without warning, it started.

There was no one in the middle seat. She turned her face away, toward the window, and let the tears stream down her face. Tried to stay quiet so the man in the aisle seat wouldn't notice, wouldn't ask what was wrong.

_My dad is dying, and I've been saying good-bye to him for two and a half years, and he's in so much pain, there's nothing we can do for him. And I'm going to be an astronaut, which was his dream for me, and he's not even going to live to see me do it. He didn't even understand when I told him._

Too much to explain to a stranger on the red-eye.

The man in the aisle seat fell asleep after the drinks service. Sam tried reading again, but her mind was still too scattered to concentrate on her book. She pulled out the catalog from the seat pocket and leafed through it, fascinated, amused, and dismayed by all the junk made possible through technology.

The sky was deep blue-black outside the window. The cabin lights were low. The overhead light cast a narrow, bright beam onto the pages in front of her. Next to her, an empty seat. Beyond that, the man asleep, under a small blue blanket. His head was tilted in her direction. One of the cabin crew walked past.

That was the moment when it all felt wrong.

Sam paused. It was like that feeling you get when you have déjà vu. A weird sense that makes you look around again and question your experience. This wasn't déjà vu, it was a deeper sense. Sam put the catalog away and sat back. She listened to the hum of the airplane, to the low voices speaking in back of her. A man and a woman, speaking Spanish.

It was all wrong. She couldn't shake the feeling now. Everything was wrong.

This was ridiculous. It didn't make sense. How could things be wrong? She was Major Sam Carter, she was on an airplane, she was on her way to her new assignment. She'd just left Mark and his family in San Diego. Her father was dying of cancer. It wasn't that her life was so great, but what was _wrong_ about it? It was her life.

She reviewed the last few hours, trying to pinpoint what felt wrong. She couldn't. Everything had been normal. She decided it was the stress. Yes, she'd had over two years to say good-bye to her father, but now that it was so close, it was different. Maybe she wasn't handling it as well as she thought. That must be it.

She pulled out the airline magazine, flicked through it, and started reading a tourism article about Dallas. She told herself everything was just as it was, everything was normal. But deep down, she felt like there was something she needed to remember and couldn't. And until she did, everything was wrong.

\-----

Daniel awoke with a start. The rapping on the door continued. He sat up and adjusted his glasses, ran a hand through his hair. He straightened the papers and books in front of him and stood up to answer the door.

A nervous, thin young man stood outside. "Doctor Jackson?"

"Yes?"

"Am I too early? The syllabus said, 'Office hours: 2-4', but I can come back later..."

Daniel blinked at him, shook his head, and stood back, opening the door wider. "No, no. This is fine. I lost track of time." The young man stepped inside and looked around at the shelves of books and miscellany. Daniel removed a stack of books from the guest chair. The young man sat down.

Daniel leafed through a stack of file folders on his desk. "You're from Arch 201?"

"Yes, sir. I'm Feingold, sir. I spoke to you after class last Thursday."

Daniel found the right folder and slid it out. He glanced at the man again. "Oh, yes. Feingold. You said you were thinking of switching your major."

Feingold nodded eagerly. Daniel sat down at his desk and opened the Arch 201 file. Feingold had attended all lectures so far.

"What's your current major?"

"English."

Daniel glanced over the names again. Thirty-two students. So hard to remember them all. Had Feingold turned in the last assignment?

"I'm not really the person to speak to about this," Daniel said. "To switch majors, you need to get approval from the head of the Anthropology Department. That's Doctor Leventhal. I think he's in his office today at 5."

Yes, here it was. Feingold got a B.

Feingold sat forward a little. "Yes, I already made an appointment to see him. But I wanted to ask if you'd be my advisor. I'm really interested in archaeology, and I've felt so... so inspired by your lectures..." He trailed off and watched Daniel with hopeful eyes.

Daniel scanned the list of names and rows of grades again. He only had four undergrad advisees this year, none of them all that promising. Undergrads weren't much of a burden, however. Just sign off on their courses, make sure they took all the requirements, and make sure they returned all their library books before graduation. If they didn't switch majors again and become someone else's problem.

Daniel sat back and picked up a pen. He toyed with it and stared at Feingold. "Inspired, you said. What did you find so inspiring about them?"

Feingold blushed and blinked rapidly, obviously taken aback by the question. "Well, uh, um. What you were saying... about the mysteries we don't know the answers to. Like in ancient Egypt, the pyramids, and why they were lined up that way. That's just... really cool."

Daniel kept staring at him. "Cool," he repeated quietly. "And what else?"

Feingold looked down at his lap and fidgeted with his notebooks. "Um, well. When you talked about that dig you were on in the Yucatan. That sounded really... um, it sounded very interesting."

"Not all digs make major finds. It can be back-breaking, tedious work."

Feingold looked up, smiling. "But isn't it worth it? Just to get in there and look?"

_Well, well._ Daniel glanced down at the pen in his hands and smiled a little.

"All right," he said. "I'll be your advisor."

"Oh, wow," said Feingold. "Thank you so much." He pulled out a form, Daniel signed, they shook hands, and Feingold left. Okay, maybe one of them looked a little promising, if he stayed interested.

Daniel sat out the remainder of his office hours reading. A little after four, someone knocked on the doorjamb. He looked up. Vicki stood in the doorway.

"Doctor Jackson, I was wondering if I could ask you about the midterm."

Daniel closed his book and stood up. "I'm just leaving, but we can talk about it on the way out."

Vicki nodded. "Okay."

They walked down the hallway together. The heels of her platform shoes clacked and echoed. She clutched a notebook and a library book in front of her, just under her breasts. Wasn't it a little chilly to be wearing a tank-top? Maybe so; her nipples were hard, stretching the pink material.

He told her the midterm was worth a quarter of the grade. He told her that if she didn't do well on the midterm, there was a chance to make it up by doing the optional paper and turning it in before the final. He told her the final was worth half the grade. He told her the final was easy if she'd done all the assigned reading.

They were at his car, in the far corner of parking lot E, under the tree. Fall leaves scattered over the hood. Daniel turned the key in the driver's side door, and all the doors unlocked. He looked across the parking lot. A couple of students went by on bikes. He watched two women go in the side entrance of the Psychology Building. He got inside the car. Vicki was already sitting, seatbelted, in the passenger seat.

The drive across town was slow. Early rush hour. Getting dark. As they sat at a red light for what seemed like forever, he remembered the evening the traffic had been so bad and she'd gone down on him, right there in the car. His palms shifted on the steering wheel, moist. When had that been? A week ago? No. Two weeks ago.

Vicki was talking, telling him something. He hadn't been paying a lot of attention. The light changed. He listened to her. She was telling him about a party she'd gone to. She sounded bored. With the party? With her friends? With him? He didn't know.

He parked in his spot behind his building. She got out first. That annoyed him, unexpectedly. She'd never done that before, had always let him open the door for her. She hadn't been bored, before.

But then, in the ancient, creaking elevator, she stood next to him and leaned against his shoulder, and smiled up at him. It was a cute, young smile. He kissed her forehead and put his arm around her.

They lay in the dark of his tiny apartment, cold again after the heat of sex. Vicki teased him about not having a television, her favorite little joke, and wrapped up in his quilt. She turned onto her side and touched the things on his bedside table, under the weak glow of the lamp. She touched his watch, and his book, and the frame of his glasses.

_You think you know me,_ he thought, _and you don't._ He watched her and wondered what a nineteen-year-old thought she knew about him, just because they slept together. Surprisingly, Feingold came into his thoughts then. _Isn't it worth it just to get in there and look?_ Feingold understood more about him than Vicki did. He wondered if Vicki knew Feingold, if she'd like Feingold. Maybe they could go out.

He stared at her bare shoulder, the skin pale and freckled. Her red-blonde hair fell away from her neck, and he could see the hook and chain of the silver necklace she wore. The colored squares of the quilt draped over her arm: red, blue, green, blue, red. The radiator started to hiss.

That was the moment when it all felt wrong.

Daniel rubbed his eyes and rolled onto his back. What felt wrong? Something wrong in the apartment? Something wrong with Vicki?

No. Everything was as it had been. Everything was normal. Vicki rolled over and curled up next to him, closing her eyes. She seemed fine. But Daniel couldn't shake the feeling: something was wrong.

He'd been thinking about Feingold. Something wrong there? A student who might actually be interested in archaeology. Nothing wrong with that, he told himself with only a trace of irony. Feingold might have been playing him -- it had been done before, by students who'd mistakenly believed it would help their grades -- but he didn't think so. If Feingold had been acting, he'd been convincing.

Still. Something was wrong. He felt it strongly now. Aware of everything around him: Vicki, the bed, the quilt, the lamp, the room, the world.

He took a deep breath and released it with a sigh. Vicki. It had to be, he decided. She'd seemed bored earlier. Maybe he was, too. She was seventeen years younger, and she was no dummy, but they didn't have anything in common beyond the primal attraction. It was against university policy, but since everyone on campus knew about Leventhal and his string of "research assistants," Daniel doubted he'd be sacrificed for a first offense, if it came to that.

He closed his eyes and pulled the quilt up a little more. He was Doctor Daniel Jackson, professor of archaeology at a good (but not great) university, sleeping with his student in an affair that would probably be over before midterms, and he'd just agreed to be advisor to a student who might have some promise. Everything was normal, this was his life.

He relaxed and waited for sleep. And couldn't stop feeling like there was something he had forgotten, something important. And until he remembered it, everything was going to be wrong.

\-----

Jack awoke with a start.

"Dad? Dad. Da-a-a-a-d. Wake up."

Charlie kept shaking his arm.

Jack blinked and absently pulled his arm away. "I'm awake," he said groggily. "Where's your mom?"

Charlie heaved a dramatic sigh and rolled his eyes. "You forgot, didn't you?"

Jack stared at him and internally flinched. Uh oh. "No, I didn't forget," he said, getting out of the recliner. He ruffled Charlie's hair. Lord, when had the kid gotten so tall? At this rate, he was going to be tall as Jack by the time he was sixteen. "Forget what?" he asked with a smile, heading for the coat closet.

Charlie was in his soccer gear, and Jack had made the logical guess: he had to drive Charlie to practice because Sara was... somewhere. Okay, that part he still couldn't remember, but the rest of it seemed clear enough. Charlie followed him without any more theatrics, so his guess was correct.

Dog in house, check. Charlie in truck, check. Lock the house, check. Everything went smoothly until Charlie yelled, "Da-a-a-d!" halfway there.

"What?" Jack said, frowning because the yell had been loud, had rattled him even though he should be used to it by now.

"You forgot! We're supposed to pick up Derek!"

Damn. He hadn't even remotely thought about picking up anyone else. He waited to make the left turn while Charlie fidgeted and kicked the seat. "I can't believe you forgot," he muttered. "You always forget everything. Now we're gonna be late."

"We're not going to be late," Jack said evenly, watching the traffic, waiting for a break. What was up with the traffic at this hour? Not even rush hour.

"Yes, we are! And it's all your fault. Why are we just sitting here? Why don't you just go?"

"Because I can't--" Soon as he said it, the traffic broke. Jack made the turn, drove to Derek's house, listened to Charlie's complaining suddenly swerve, kid-like, into happy babbling about another topic: frogs. Frogs? Since when was Charlie into frogs?

Derek was waiting for them on the sidewalk. Looked like he'd been waiting a while. Jack apologized but Charlie and Derek were already babbling together, bouncing with all that energy, kicking and twisting around to talk and laugh.

He had to park down the block, and Charlie and Derek broke into a run the minute they were free from the truck, even though they weren't late. Not technically. Jack walked behind them, watched them run into the field and join the others, and tried to remember if he was supposed to drive them home, or if Sara had said she would.

He was still pondering this when he reached the bleachers, and a woman standing there said, "Colonel O'Neill. It's nice to see you again."

She had a laughing smile, short brown hair, and was wearing jeans and a sweater. He politely smiled back and said, "Nice to see you again."

She kept smiling and said, "Helen. I'm Noah's mother." She nodded in the direction of the field where, presumably, Noah was. Jack's smile widened and he glanced down at the ground.

"Sorry. Charlie's been on my case all day about forgetting things, so don't tell him about this."

Helen laughed and turned to watch the kids play. "Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me."

They stood and watched the practice for a while, then strolled slowly around the park. "I couldn't remember if I was supposed to take them home," Jack admitted. "That's why I followed them and hung around. Then I remembered Sara said she'd pick them up." He paused for a moment. "I don't know what's wrong with me lately."

"Oh, it happens to everyone," Helen said, waving it away. "Besides, I figure a man in your job, well, you have a lot on your mind, don't you?" She shook her head. "My father was the same way." She glanced at him and smiled. "I'm an Army brat. Got used to Dad being two places at once, when he was there at all."

Jack watched the sidewalk ahead. "Yeah," he said after a while. "I guess so." Charlie had been quick to forgive earlier, but he knew once Sara got there, she would get the full story. This was Charlie's way of rebelling right now: solidarity with Mom in the game of "look what Dad did now." When had it started being like this? It gnawed at him that he couldn't remember.

They stopped next to his truck. "It was nice to see you again," he said. "Really."

Helen smiled and nodded and continued her stroll around the park.

On the drive home, alone in his truck, Jack's thoughts slid away from Charlie and Sara, and the dog, and the bills, and the yardwork, and the leak in the laundry room, to mission reports, terrain maps, field intell, aircraft specs. This next mission was not going to be easy or clean. He was not looking forward to it. It was why he'd been so distracted lately, he supposed. And all he could tell Sara and Charlie was that he'd be gone for at least two weeks. At least, but maybe more.

Jack came home, took Daisy for a walk, waved to two power-walking neighbors whose names he couldn't remember because he'd only met them twice before. They were the ones who parked their Expedition outside. He always noticed it in front of their house.

He returned to the empty house. Toyed with the idea of raking the leaves while he went to get a beer out of the fridge. Saw the note Sara had taped to the refrigerator door: "Preheat: 375 degrees. Bake 45 minutes. Home by six."

He smiled and touched the note. Checked his watch. Started the oven and read the paper at the dining room table. It got dark, and the house was perfectly quiet.

Daisy barked. Charlie bounded inside and ran upstairs with thudding footsteps. Sara came in, switched on another light, and checked the oven. She was carrying some dry-cleaning, the mail, her housekeys, and a package.

"Thanks," she said as she drifted from kitchen to dining room to living room, setting things down. She took all the bills with her and put them on her desk. Jack opened the junk mail, since it was all addressed to him.

The package was a new tackle box, a gift from Jack's father-in-law, for Jack's birthday, which he would miss because it was next week. It was a nice one, but Jack liked his own, which was sitting on the floor in the back of the hall closet. He opened the card and inside was a not-very-subtle note that if Jack couldn't use this one, Charlie could. Jack raised an eyebrow and put the card inside the tackle box and closed it.

"You didn't take the movies back," Sara's voice, tired and resigned, came from the living room. She walked in, carrying two Blockbuster DVD boxes, and set them on the kitchen counter, next to her purse. He watched her make a simple lettuce-tomato-cucumber salad while he set the table.

"They have a twenty-four hour drop-off. I'll run down there after dinner," he said. She nodded.

Charlie was fidgetty at dinner, swinging his legs under the table, kicking Jack and Daisy once each. Fidgetty and talkative. Frogs again. Maybe it was his science class. Who was his science teacher now?

"Thinking of becoming a biologist someday?" Jack asked lightly, because the answer wasn't really important.

Charlie went quiet and sullen and shrugged. "I dunno."

Sara had that look. Weary, disappointed. Jack looked from her to Charlie. "The way you've been talking frogs all day, I just wondered..."

Charlie sighed. "Da-a-a-d. Frogs. You know. The game?"

Frogs. Videogame. Right. Giant frogs that zap humans or something, and their spawn takes over cities. He should have remembered that.

Sara's look. Charlie's silence. Birthday present he wasn't going to use, for a birthday he wasn't going to celebrate. He hadn't raked the leaves, he hadn't returned the movies, and he was going to be nine thousand miles away sometime tomorrow.

_Two places at once, when he was there at all._

He loaded the dishwasher after dinner. Got a beer and sat in the recliner. Sara sat on the sofa and read the paper. Charlie, the frog faux-pas forgotten, stayed in the living room to watch TV. Jack asked about homework, was assured it was already taken care of. An answer which made him suspicious, but he liked having Charlie there, liked watching TV with him.

The condensation on the beer bottle was cold in his hand. The floorlamp next to the sofa illuminated his wife, and he could see the grey in her hair, just barely, and the creases around her eyes. The light shone through the newspaper, words blending with pictures on the other side. Charlie sprawled upside down on the sofa, legs draped over the back, watching TV. Music and talking and noises from the TV set.

And that was the moment when it all felt wrong.

It was like something shifted, a tiny earthquake only Jack felt, that moved the world just a little to the left. So that after that, everything felt off by a few inches. Jack waited for the earth to settle to the right again, for everything to fall back into place.

But it didn't, and he couldn't figure out why. What was wrong? The mission? Yeah, probably, but he'd seen thousands like this before. His marriage? Probably, unfortunately, and he felt helpless to save it. But he didn't think Sara would leave him while Charlie was still in school. Charlie? Was something wrong with Charlie? He watched his son watch TV, kicking his legs, eyes glued to the screen. A perfectly ordinary twelve-year-old kid, as far as Jack could tell.

So what was it? Why couldn't he shake this feeling? He sat back and took a drink of beer. He was Jack O'Neill, Air Force colonel, sitting with his wife and son at home the night before he was to fly halfway around the world to serve his country. This was all normal. This was his life.

He took another drink and watched the images flash on TV without really watching it. Deep down, everything was still off by a few inches. Yeah, he forgot stuff, but never the really important stuff, and this felt important. Something beyond his memory, like it was hiding, just out of reach. And until he could reach it, everything was wrong.

\-----

Sam decided she was probably going crazy. Certainly that's what her family thought. There was no other explanation for her behavior: using Jacob's deterioration as an excuse for special leave less than three weeks into her post, flying across the country just to stay a day, then flying away again without telling Mark and Susan where she was going. If she saw them again, they'd call some good counsellors. Have some long talks about cracking under stress.

If. She couldn't stop thinking about it as _if_, not when. She'd said good-bye to Jacob that one day in San Diego. Alone in the dim, cheerless room, holding his hand, almost glad he didn't wake up. And she'd silently said good-bye to Katie, giving her an extra-long, extra-strong hug.

"Where are you going this time?" Katie had asked, and Sam had replied, "I don't know." And she hadn't, at the time. All she knew was that she had to be somewhere else. It was vitally important for her to be somewhere else. She didn't know where.

She took a taxi to the airport, unable to face more good-byes. She walked up to a ticket counter and asked for a ticket to Denver. The word just popped out like that. She got a round-trip ticket, all the while thinking, "I'm not coming back."

It had all seemed right. She was moving in the right direction, for the first time in weeks. Something around her was changing, shifting. It was like the world was a giant puzzle, and the pieces were finally fitting into place.

It had all seemed right, until now. She slowed the rental car and read the sign: _U.S. Government Property. No Admittance Beyond This Point._ And around it, high fences with barbed wire. Armed guards patrolling. And off in the distance, a mountain. NORAD.

Sam kept driving. She had been drawn to Colorado Springs. She had been drawn to the mountain. Now what? This was completely insane.

The road curved away. She drove back into town, at a loss. She was going crazy. She should go back to her family. She should talk to some counsellors. She should turn around, back toward Denver.

Instead, Sam found an old, narrow, private road with a busted gate. It was dusk now, and the car crept up the winding road, into the trees. When she was surrounded by darkness, she parked the car and got out.

She expected armed guards to come out from the trees, aim lights and weapons at her, and take her into custody. No one came. The place was silent. Above the trees, she could just make out the shape of the mountain in the distance. She started walking.

She walked as carefully and as quietly as she could, listening for the patrols who had to be out looking for her by now. And she kept wondering, even if she made it to the mountain, what would she do there?

She imagined it all: caught, accused of spying, arrested, interrogated. She really was crazy. She was ruining her life, and for what? All because things hadn't "felt right," whatever that meant.

Sam stopped walking and looked around at the dark trees. She could still turn back, find the car, get away.

And that's when she saw him.

\-----

What, Daniel wondered, would the obituary say? _Doctor Daniel Jackson, archaeologist and linguist specializing in Ancient Egypt and the Near East, died of unspecified causes during a camping trip to Colorado. He is survived by his grandfather, the famous archaeologist Nicholas Ballard, who could not be reached for comment._

Or maybe they'd go for the sensationalist angle: _Promising young archaeologist shot as spy. Students mourn; colleagues call shy, quiet prof "odd"._

Would Vicki mourn? It was better not to think about that.

He was crouched next to a tree. He hadn't brought a flashlight, and it was dark now. He listened for barking, manhunting dogs and gunfire. He was so dead. Caught on U.S. Government Property, with a passport bearing several Middle Eastern visas. Maybe he could convince them he was a lost hiker? He was so dead.

But even if he wasn't dead -- even if he managed to get out of this alive -- then what? What was he doing here? Flying to Denver on a whim had seemed sane. Odd, but sane. He'd never been there before. Sometimes people did impulsive things. He seemed to have hit middle age syndrome early: sleeping with students, feeling everything around him was wrong, feeling restless, needing a change.

But then he'd driven to NORAD. Not that it had said "NORAD" over the heavily guarded, forbidding gates, but he'd made an educated guess. He was in the heart of scary military, governmental paranoia land, and he had no idea why. It just "felt right."

And when he told them that, when they caught him and tortured him, he was sure that would make everything okay. He was so dead.

Daniel's eyes had adjusted to the darkness. He got up and crept forward a few more yards, trailing a hand along the trees to guide himself. He looked up at the sky, but it was too early for stars. Was he still moving in the right direction? He glanced back, knowing it wouldn't be helpful: all these trees looked alike.

And that's when he saw her.

\-----

Jack had been here before, and he could get inside through the front gate now, but something had held him back. Something had been holding him back, had been directing him, for weeks now. He hated that. Everything he did, it felt like someone else was pulling the strings. His mission, his return, even his family, goddammit. Even this wild trip to Cheyenne Mountain.

And yet, even though he felt manipulated, things seemed right again. That sense which had been haunting him, that everything was horribly wrong, was melting away. Like being able to see clearly after walking out of a fog.

Maybe it was simply the familiarity of this: staying hidden, watching, not giving himself away. Either he was too good at this, or they were too bad. He suspected it was a little bit of both.

The guy was _really_ bad. Wasn't even trying. Hadn't even dressed for it -- his sweater was too light, and those pants looked and sounded like corduroy. He had decided the guy was just what he appeared to be -- a clueless civilian hopelessly lost -- when he'd spotted the girl.

That made two of them, and the girl was following the guy. She was a little better. Dressed dark, but she should have covered her hair. She had the right walk -- the guy she was stalking didn't even notice her. They made an interesting, puzzling sight as Jack paralleled their trail.

Then the guy stopped. Looked around, even more lost, and saw her. Jack braced himself for shouts, shots, anything. Instead, they just stood there and looked at each other. Jack waited.

A minute or so crawled by. Jack released his breath slowly, shifted his weight to the other foot, and leaned against the tree. The girl took a step forward. The guy looked around; he was planning to run.

Jack had a decision to make. Capture the guy and blow his own cover? Or keep watching until it was all played out? He had made up his mind to risk it and take the guy when he ran, when the girl spoke.

"It's all right," she whispered. "I'm not armed." She took a few more steps forward, arms open.

The guy stayed where he was. "Neither am I," he whispered back. "Could you just stop right there, please?"

She stopped. The guy looked around.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. Jack raised an eyebrow. Had to admire the guy's balls, for playing it cool when he was so obviously in the same boat as she was.

"What are you doing here?" she replied. She sounded less cool, more confused. Like she hadn't expected someone else to be here. Well, of course not. None of them should be here.

"I asked you first," the guy whispered, looking around again and taking a step closer to her.

She hesitated. She got a little closer to him. She whispered, "I don't know."

The guy now stood right in front of her. She was only an inch or two shorter, but he leaned in and whispered, "Neither do I," and they both looked around. Jack stayed perfectly still.

They stood there, silent, for a moment, obviously confused. Then the guy whispered, "I think I should go. You won't give me away?"

She shook her head. "No. I'll go with you." They turned around and started walking.

And she was damn good, actually. Jack had missed her tip-off -- must've happened when they were leaning in close. They started walking faster, Jack lost sight of them for a second, but that was all it took. She was right in front of him, handgun out and aimed at Jack's chest. He stopped and raised his arms.

The guy came walking back and joined them. "I thought you said you weren't armed."

Her aim didn't waver. "I didn't want to scare you."

"What gave me away?" Jack asked, keeping it light, conversational, friendly. One trespasser to another.

"Your skin," she said. "Just a little too shiny." She sounded apologetic, as if his oily skin were her fault.

Jack wiggled his fingers, stretching the muscles in case things were going to get nasty. "Are you going to shoot me?"

"Are you going to shoot us?" the guy asked. He was standing behind her left shoulder, letting her block him from Jack. _How chivalrous._

"No," Jack said.

She nodded at Jack. "Get his gun." The guy stepped forward and hesitated, looking Jack up and down. She sighed impatiently. "Belt. Rear. Check his jacket, check his ankles."

Patted down and disarmed, Jack watched the guy handle the gun in a way that screamed he'd never held one before in his life. Unfortunately, that made him more dangerous than the girl, who knew exactly what she was doing. The guy seemed to realize this, though, and handed the gun to the girl, who slid it one-handed into her jacket pocket.

"Now what?" Jack asked.

"Who are you?" she said.

"I'm the guy who was following you while you were following him." Jack smiled.

The guy folded his arms over his chest and hung his head. "Oh God, you were following me? Both of you? What am I doing here?"

That distracted her, just a little. Jack could have made his move then, but the truth was, it distracted him, too. He had the uncanny sensation that they had all been thinking the same thing.

He was nominally the prisoner here. Little to lose at this point. He wiggled his fingers again.

"I'm going to take a chance here," he said. "If it sounds crazy, you can shoot me or turn me in, whatever. About a month ago, I was sitting at home with my wife, and everything changed. And I--"

"What do you mean, everything changed?" the guy interrupted.

"I mean, everything changed," Jack said impatiently. "Was different somehow. Wrong. And all I know is, it kept on being like that until now. Until I got here."

There was a long silence. Then the guy said, "Same here. One day, everything was fine. The next, it's all... wrong."

A shorter silence. The girl sighed. "I thought it was just me. Until I got here and found you two." She lowered her gun. "What the hell is going on?"

\-----

He was military, definitely. Special Ops, Sam suspected, and wondered if the shiny blackface had meant that he'd wanted them to find him. She shouldn't trust him, either way. But she couldn't help feeling like she could.

They made a funny trio, checked into a rundown motel room out of town. Drawing the curtains closed, locking the chain on the door, checking the phone and TV set and under the beds. Sam stood back and watched the man in the sweater check the closet. The man in black flicked on the bathroom light and looked around.

"I feel like I'm in an episode of X-Files," she murmured.

The man in the sweater turned around, eyebrows raised above his glasses. "What?"

The man in black sat down on one of the beds and smiled at her. "You handle a gun better than Agent Scully," he said. Sam ignored the lame compliment and sat down in the chair.

The man in the sweater stood in front of them, at the desk. He looked like a lecturer preparing to address his audience. He adjusted his glasses and took a breath. "I'm... Daniel," he said. He looked at them both, and when neither of them said anything, he frowned deeply.

Sam felt sorry for him. He was so out of his league here. It was a miracle he'd made it as far as he had. "I'm Sam," she said, relenting. She and Daniel stared at the man in black.

He looked from Daniel to Sam, suspicious. "I'm..." He stopped, looked them over again, and shrugged. "I'm Jack," he said with a sigh, as if he knew he were making a big mistake. He'd just told them his real name. That sealed it. She trusted him.

Daniel leaned against the desk and folded his arms over his chest. "So. We all came here from somewhere else. We all have been feeling like something's wrong."

Jack stood up and went into the bathroom. "That's the long and short of it, yeah." He turned on the sink and started washing the blacking off his face and fingers. When he came back in, he pulled off his knit cap and gloves. He was older than Sam had expected. He had grey hair, and dark eyes that didn't miss a thing and caught her staring at him. Sam glanced away and watched Daniel tapping his index finger against his lips.

"The mountain's NORAD," he said, and looked to Jack for confirmation. Jack said nothing. Daniel gave a little shrug, as if it wasn't important, and went on. "I don't know about you two, but my life was okay. Nothing great, but I wasn't miserable. And even after things felt wrong, I still wasn't miserable. It was just this nagging feeling... like..." He stopped and frowned, searching for words.

Jack said, "Like you should be doing something else."

"Yes," Daniel said.

Sam shook her head. "But that's not all. There's more to it than that. It's like..." She paused and looked at them. They were both staring at her intently, and it was a little unnerving. She shut her eyes briefly and took a breath to gather her thoughts. "Okay, this is going to sound nuts, but I feel like I know you both."

The silence was a dead weight in the room. Sam winced. "You guys don't feel that way?"

Jack looked at Daniel. Daniel looked at Jack, then back at Sam. "Wellll..." Daniel said.

"A little," Jack said. "You're both... familiar."

Daniel tapped his fingers against the desk. "So who are we? Really?" He looked at Sam and Jack, and when neither of them said anything, he shrugged again and said, "Okay. I'm an archaeologist. I specialize in Egypt and the ancient Near East. Right now I'm an associate professor at--"

"An archaeologist?" Jack cut in, staring at him. He looked at Sam. "What about you?"

"I'm an astrophysicist," she said.

Jack's gaze was steady. He didn't miss a thing. He smirked very slightly.

"In the Air Force," Sam added.

Daniel gave Jack a long look and said, "And you're obviously in the military."

Jack frowned at him. He said to Sam, "Air Force."

Sam ran a hand through her hair. "This makes less sense the more we find out about each other. What could we possibly have in common? And why are we here?"

None of them could answer that question, and Sam was beginning to feel like it was all so hopeless, there was no point in going on, when Jack said quietly, "But you both feel it, don't you?"

"What?" asked Daniel.

Jack said, "That we're where we're supposed to be."

\-----

Daniel wasn't so sure about this. These two were both Air Force. Whatever it was that had brought them here, at least Jack and Sam had something in common. If it was some kind of military thing, some kind of "Save the Earth" rescue, then it made sense for Jack and Sam to be here. But what about him? What could he do?

It was funny. He kept thinking in terms of "Save the Earth" rescues. Maybe that's what it was. But how in the hell could three mismatched people save the Earth?

He liked Sam. They were sitting in the depressing diner atmosphere of the restaurant attached to the motel, and he watched her pour sugar into her decaf. She was smart, and open, and honest. Whatever she was holding back, it wasn't because she was hiding it from them; she wasn't sure if they needed to know it yet. He trusted her.

Jack, on the other hand... Jack was open in a way that only convinced Daniel there was far more to him than met the eye. He gave his purposely vague responses with an air of wistfulness. As if saying, _I'd tell you more, but I know you don't expect me to._ Jack seemed to be the type of man who would always try to live down to your expectations, just to keep you in a false sense of security. Daniel didn't know what to make of him, but liked him anyway. Cautiously.

He ordered a club sandwich, Jack ordered soup, and Sam ordered apple pie à la mode. Daniel handed the menus to their waitress and thought about what a weird group they must look like. What a weird group they were. The archaeologist, the astrophysicist, and the Air Force guy.

While they waited for their food, they talked about when to pick up Daniel and Sam's rental cars and where and how to return them. Making plans like they did this all the time: sneak around on government property, check into motels together, minimize their exposure. For all Daniel knew, maybe they did do this all the time. He was starting to feel it more strongly now: that they knew each other.

Jack was crumbling crackers into his soup when Daniel said quietly, "There's someone missing." He took a bite of sandwich and watched their reactions. Jack kept crumbling. Sam stared at Daniel, fork halfway through her scoop of ice cream.

"Yeah," Jack said, and blew on his spoonful of soup. "Who?"

Daniel swallowed, took a drink of water, and shook his head. "I don't know."

Sam toyed with her coffee cup. "I feel like there's more than that. There's something... big... missing. Like a... Like a..." She stopped and made a frustrated sound. "Do you feel it?"

Daniel took the decorative toothpick out of the next wedge of his sandwich, processing what he was feeling. "Almost," he said. He glanced at Jack. "What about you?"

Jack tilted his head from side to side. "Yeah. Kinda."

"What are we going to do about it?" Sam asked. "How are we going to find out what's going on, and why we're here, and what's missing? Because I don't know about you guys, but I don't like our chances of trying to break into... that mountain. And I'm not a hundred percent certain that even if we do, we'll find what we're looking for."

The ice cream on her pie was melting. Daniel watched it puddle around the crust. He thought about alternatives. The most sensible one was to forget this all happened and turn back. Go home. And he couldn't do that, he knew he couldn't. Just the thought of it -- going back to that life, leaving these people he'd just met but whom he already knew, leaving behind something big, something important, if he could only remember what it was... The thought of leaving chilled him. It was wrong.

Jack spoke his thoughts. "I can't go back, can you?"

"No," Daniel said. Sam shook her head.

"Then we press on," Jack said.

"How?" Sam asked.

Jack stirred his soup. "That mountain's the key. We all ended up there, and that's where we met. Right now, I have to believe there was a reason for that." He took a sip of soup and Daniel and Sam waited. Jack glanced up at them. "There's a way inside. Not the front gate," he said.

Daniel blinked.

Sam shook her head. "It's too risky. We'll be shot."

"Maybe," Jack said, not lightly. Daniel felt his palms go sweaty. Okay, maybe he couldn't go back, but did staying here have to involve dying? And what on Earth was an archaeologist supposed to do inside NORAD, anyway? If this was all a bad dream, he was ready to wake up now.

Sam tapped her coffee cup. "It's too risky," she repeated.

Jack glanced at Daniel. Daniel figured he looked as freaked as he felt. Okay, so, he didn't want to die. Did that make him a coward? He took another bite of sandwich.

"If we go at night..." Jack said. "Dress dark... There's a chance." Oddly, he sounded like he really believed it. Daniel stared at him.

Sam looked at Daniel. "What do you think?"

Daniel flattened his palms on the table top and looked down at the remaining wedge of his club sandwich. "Honestly? I think we have no other choice."

\-----

_We have no other choice._ Daniel's words over dinner kept echoing in Jack's mind, and it wasn't an echo he wanted to hear. That's what he'd been feeling all these weeks: he had no choice, no say in the matter. Someone else was pulling the strings. If the other two felt it, they weren't talking about it. Maybe none of them wanted to admit it. Admitting it might only make it feel more hopeless.

Was it really hopeless? Jack couldn't say, because he still didn't know what the mission was. Mission. Yes, it was shaping up to be a mission. They'd made their plans over dinner. Returning the cars. Getting dark clothes for Daniel and Sam. When to go, how to get there, how long it would take. That part of the mission was all set. But Jack still had no idea what the goal was, and what their odds of achieving it were.

As they walked back to the room, shoes crunching over gravel in the parking lot, he thought about Sara and Charlie. He'd said good-bye, in a way. Had left treating this as just another assignment. But ever since he'd arrived in Colorado, he'd known he wouldn't see them again.

When they'd left the restaurant, he had looked at the payphone in the entrance. He should call. And say what? _My life with you was wrong, and now I'm in Colorado, and I've met two strangers, and everything is right. But I'm never going to see you again. I love you. Good-bye._

He didn't call.

Sam unlocked the door and entered on alert. She was good. He liked her. She was honest, competent, and sharp. He could work with someone like her. As for Daniel... He hadn't made up his mind about Daniel yet. Daniel had a way of saying things that took you off-guard, but when Jack searched for a hidden agenda, he couldn't find one. Daniel seemed as freaked about all this as Jack was. Mostly, he was _what you see is what you get._ Then he was more than what you see, and that's why Jack hadn't decided yet what to make of him. But he liked Daniel's caution and frankness.

After a quick sweep of the room, Sam switched on the light, and Jack and Daniel entered after her. Sam went into the bathroom. Daniel sat down in the chair and switched on the TV. Jack sat at the desk and checked the drawers.

Daniel kept the TV on a news channel, volume low. Jack looked up and watched the scrolling headlines, then glanced at Daniel.

"Expecting us to make the news?"

Daniel lifted his eyebrows and tapped the remote against his thigh. "Well, you never know." Sam came out of the bathroom, and Daniel continued, "If we really are part of something big, something important, it might be on the news. We might remember something."

Jack combed a hand through his hair. "I've been trying to remember for a month. Whatever I feel now, it's just that: feelings. Not memories." Daniel switched off the TV.

Sam took off her jacket and draped it over the bedside table. She sat down on one of the beds and took off her shoes and socks. When she stood up and unzipped her jeans and pulled them off, Daniel said, "Oh."

Jack glanced at Daniel. "It's all right. We can share."

Sam reached behind her, into her shirt, and did that weird female thing of taking off her bra and pulling it out through her sleeve without removing her shirt. She gave Jack and Daniel assessing looks. "You two think you can fit on that bed together?"

Jack took another look at the bed, another look at Daniel. "I'll sleep in the chair," Jack said.

Daniel frowned. "Oh. No, that's all right, I can manage. You take the bed."

Sam got into bed and pulled the covers up, shaking her head. "I'd feel easier if we all got a good night's sleep," she said, curling up on her side.

_Oh, for crying out loud. I'm a married man. Not even tempted,_ Jack thought, looking at Sam.

"Daniel, you take the other bed," he said. Daniel looked relieved. Jack claimed the empty bedspace next to Sam. Daniel stood up and started undressing.

Settled in bed, lights out, Jack felt it more strongly than ever. They knew each other. They were where they needed to be. Someone was missing. And he was never going to see his family again.

\-----

_A good night's sleep_ turned out to be relative. Sam did okay for the first half of the night, but then she woke up and couldn't get back to sleep. She listened, was sure the others were sleeping, and lay awake, eyes closed, thinking about Mark and Susan and the kids, and Jacob. She was never going to see them again. She was certain of it now. She wished Jacob had woken up, just once, and said good-bye to her.

She didn't realize she'd dozed off again until it was morning and the men were awake and noisy and woke her up. She got up, got dressed, got the room for another night, and they all ate breakfast in the restaurant. They were quiet this morning. Whatever was going to happen, it was happening now. Set in motion. All they could do was follow it through to the end.

According to plan, they went and got Daniel's rental car first. She and Jack followed as he returned it, picked him up, then they went shopping for dark clothes. After lunch, Jack and Daniel dropped her off and she returned her rental car, surprised to find it still up the private road where it should have been found by now, and confiscated.

They went back to the motel, changed into their sneaking around outfits, as Sam thought of them, and waited for it to get dark. Once or twice Daniel would try to remember who was missing, and what it was that they were looking for, but none of them got any closer to the truth. In a funny way, Sam was past caring. She was saying good-bye to everything and everyone. She was embarking on something insanely stupid and dangerous. She was placing her trust, and her life, in two men she'd met less than twenty-four hours ago.

And it all felt right.

\-----

Daniel had misgivings. Who wouldn't? It had felt absurd to paint his face with black gunk, cover his head with a knit cap and put on black gloves, as if he were a spy sneaking through enemy territory. Sam and Jack were used to this. Daniel felt like it was all a big hoax, and any minute now, someone would switch on the lights and it would all be over.

If only it were a hoax. Daniel had no doubts that the guards around the mountain were very real, and that the bullets in their rifles were very real. On the other hand, the sense that he had to do this, that this was what he was meant to do, was also very real. So, misgivings or not, he went on.

He was following Jack through the trees, toward the mountain. Sam was behind him. They kept close, moved swiftly, and Daniel envied Jack his ability to move in total silence. It was like Jack's feet knew exactly where every twig and leaf was on the ground and stepped around them. _The Air Force must teach them skills like that, Daniel thought. In case they're shot down and have to escape._

Shot down. He shouldn't have thought that.

He kept going. To what, he had no idea. None of them did. He had thought Jack would, for some reason. He'd woken up with the idea that Jack would remember for all of them, and had been waiting all day for it to happen. Hadn't happened yet, and now it seemed too late to remember. Maybe once they got there. Wherever "there" was.

Daniel wasn't going to remember what it was, the important thing, so he focused on who was missing. He was feeling it all the time now, a presence that should be there and wasn't. A phantom limb. He stayed alert as they made their way through the trees, watching and listening for the Other One. Why had they all made it, and the Other One hadn't? He hated not knowing.

Jack stopped. Daniel slowed, looking around quickly for the guards, the danger. Then he saw it: a large concrete cylinder rising out of the ground. It had a round metal lid on top. It looked like a bomb shelter.

"This is it," Jack whispered, and started turning the wheel set into the lid. It made a loud, scraping sound, and Daniel froze, holding his breath. No one came. Maybe they really were meant to do this.

Jack got the lid open, climbed up, and slid down into the hole. There were metal rungs set into the wall. Daniel looked down but couldn't see how far they went. Jack looked up at him, smiled reassuringly and said, "Okay." He started climbing down.

Daniel hoisted himself up and into the hole. Sam peered in after him, smiling worriedly. He could hear soft echoes of metal where Jack's feet touched each rung. Jack was moving fast.

Daniel nodded to Sam. "Okay," he whispered, and took the first step down. Then the next, and the next, and he was moving fast, climbing down into endless darkness, following echoes. No idea where he was going, no idea what he was supposed to do once he got there.

But it all felt right.

\-----

Jack felt pride, and it shocked him. It came out of left field. They were climbing down the escape hatch, and he'd heard Sam shut the metal lid, far above. And that's when it hit him: pride. He was proud of Sam, proud of Daniel. They did good. They were his... Damn. Almost had it there. A whiff of a memory, an unsaid word.

He'd been doing that all day. Almost remembering. It was driving him nuts, so he was ignoring it. Not trying to connect the dots anymore. It didn't really matter now, anyway. They were doing it. Whatever it was, they were doing it.

It took a long time. The mountain was deep. Sam and Daniel had to be as exhausted as he was by now, but they kept pace. He could hear their steps above him, soft metallic echoes. Further, further, deeper. God, it was taking hours. His arms ached. His legs ached. The walls seemed to press in around them. There was no end to it, and no beginning. All they could do was keep going. He had to keep going. He had to make sure Sam and Daniel kept going.

His body got so used to the routine that when the rungs stopped, his foot still tried to make the step. He gripped the metal bar as his foot dangled in the space, and had an awful feeling that if he let go, he'd fall forever, into nothingness. He let go anyway, and slid about a yard, to the bottom.

He waited for Daniel. Heard, then felt him reach the last rung. He patted the back of Daniel's leg, and Daniel stopped. They stayed there, breathing hard, and listened for Sam. Jack heard the abrupt halt on metal. He turned around in the narrow space and spun the wheel of the hatch door.

Jack had expected immediate capture. He braced himself for it as he stepped through the door. Instead, all he faced was a blank, dim corridor leading off in two directions. Daniel and Sam climbed out. Sam shut the door behind them. They stood there, looking both ways. Jack listened for the sound of running boots, alarms, anything.

"Which way?" Sam whispered.

Daniel pointed to the right. "This way?"

Jack shrugged. "All right."

They crept along the long, featureless corridor, looking back periodically. They had all expected immediate capture, Jack realized. They moved quickly, quietly, alert. But no one was around. It wasn't just this corridor. Jack could feel it: the whole place was deserted.

He was beginning to have grave, unthinkable doubts, that this was all for nothing. That there was nothing at the end, no point to it all. He'd been led here, and would be left here, and there was no reason.

No. It didn't make sense. If that were true, why the almost-memories? Why the almost-words? There was something here. Something beyond. Just a little further.

He looked back over his shoulder, checked on Sam and Daniel. They were right there, close behind, moving forward, following him. Following him. Leader. The word fell into place and stayed there, but he didn't have time to pursue it. They had arrived at an open blast door.

There was a huge, deserted room beyond, dimly lit. Jack stayed flat against the wall and looked inside, checking and rechecking. Then he slipped around the corner, and Daniel and Sam followed.

They stood just inside the room for a moment, speechless. Daniel took a step forward, toward the ramp. Sam glanced at Jack, look silently asking, _Should he do that?_ But Jack was drawn to it, too. The three of them walked up to the ramp and stood there, staring up at it: a huge vertical ring with stones or lights set into it at intervals.

Gate. Another word fell into place. Then everything shattered.

_Good-bye,_ Jack thought. Then he was falling, and falling, into darkness. Into light.

\-----

Sam awoke with a start, and she was on the ramp in the gateroom, sprawled on her back, a medic hovering over her. Next to her, Daniel sat up abruptly, looking around. Colonel O'Neill was sitting behind them, holding his head in his hands.

Teal'c. Where was Teal'c? Sam turned her head and looked back, and Teal'c stood in front of the gate, holding his staff weapon, watching the rest of SG-1 with concern. Sam waved the medic away and tried to sit up.

"What happened?" she said, staring up at General Hammond.

"I was just going to ask you the same question," the general said.

Daniel rose to his feet, gripping the railing of the ramp. "How long have we been gone?"

"Less than an hour, Daniel Jackson," said Teal'c, helping Colonel O'Neill stand up.

"What happened?" General Hammond asked Teal'c.

"I am not certain," Teal'c replied, looking warily at the others. "As soon as we arrived through the stargate, O'Neill, Daniel Jackson, and Major Carter fell into deep trances. I could not wake them, and I searched for a source of their state, and for help. I could find no inhabitants. That is when I dialed the coordinates for Earth. I dragged them to the gate and pushed them through, because I could not get them to walk."

General Hammond looked from Teal'c to the others. "I'm cancelling the mission to P4A-784 until we know more about what causes the trances. SG-1, report to the infirmary immediately."

"But, General--" Sam started to say, then stopped. The general stared at her. So did everyone else. She had no idea what she had been about to say. She shook her head. "Nothing, sir."

Their physical tests turned up nothing. No explanation. Doctor Fraiser ordered psychological evaluations. Still nothing. At least, nothing more than the usual. Stressed people coping in stressful situations. They were all so good at coping.

Sam sat in her office, working through her backlogged e-mail and catching up on her reports. Her mind wandered from the e-mails, and she got up and made some tea. She sipped it and stared at the keyboard in front of her. That's when she remembered.

At first it was just a vague sensation, like déjà vu. Then images came. Family closeness. The career path she'd used to dream about. The life she had expected, once. Settled, steady.

She cupped her mug of tea and felt the heat on her palms. She didn't remember everything, but what she did remember felt like an unsaid good-bye, an unfinished vacation. She wondered if she missed it.

Sam finished her tea. She worked on simulations and equations for the rest of the afternoon. They'd need these for the next mission.

\-----

General Hammond gave them some time off, brief and uneventful. They returned to briefings, missions, reports. Action. Adventure. Danger. Uncertainty. It was all routine. Life went on. Everything was normal.

The memories came to Daniel piecemeal. Imperfect, unclear, unbidden. Sunlight hitting a stack of books on a chair. The colors of a quilt. A cold wind blowing fall leaves. The sound of heavy shoes walking down a hallway. The smell of a woman's hair. Nothing exotic, nothing he could place.

He was sitting in the locker room after a mission, untying his boots, when a memory came with a name: Feingold. And the name came with a face. That's when he remembered. People. A job. A place. A life he had worked for, long ago. Quiet, predictable.

Daniel set his boots neatly in his locker. He couldn't remember everything. He thought about it for a few minutes, trying to track down what was missing. It wouldn't come to him. He undressed, slipped into his robe, and slung a towel over his arm. He headed for the showers. What was missing didn't seem very important to remember now.

\-----

Jack sat at the briefing table and watched his team. Carter was standing by the projection screen, explaining a lot of complicated calculations without missing a beat or breaking a sweat. Confident and optimistic. Daniel was following her explanation, glancing through his report and jotting down notes. Brain working at Daniel-speed, which was somewhere beyond hyper-speed. Teal'c sat solidly and impassively, taking everything in without comment.

Jack remembered a little bit. A few pieces, here and there. They were odd memories. Distant and dreamlike. Always out of context. No frame of reference for the feelings that accompanied them. If he tried too hard to remember, the memories disappeared. So he left them alone, let them come to him on their own.

Then he let them go. No need to hold onto them.

(the end)


End file.
